Deaths Door
by Amelia Ashworth
Summary: Sequel to Lies of a Personal Nature: With the news of the villians return, and a determined heroine, relationships will rise that may throw the love of Charles and Rose into stormy seas and tale them to new vistas. Will their love conquer the brave new world?


I had to make some adjustments so..yeah..There is new stuff though I promise!

To Death's Door

Chapter 1

Six months had passed. Six long, agonizing months spent searching, bribing, and threatening endless sources in search of Sebastian and Charles. Each lead had come up empty, each clue turned out to be false. Rose began to lose hope on many occasions, but Oliver Greye had taken it upon himself to keep her going, as he had kept Charles going under similar circumstances. They were now housed in a small Villa she owned on the eastern coast, taking a much needed respite after three weeks on the road.

Oliver sat in the main sitting room, perusing several letters that contained alleged sightings of Sebastian. Three of the five were from London, so he immediately threw those in the fire. Jacob and Vivian Eames served as their eyes and ears in town, relieving them of the strenuous task of scouring London and the surrounding areas. The other two seemed more promising.

"Anything new Oliver?" Rose shuffled into the room, her worn riding boots scuffing the floor. She had abandoned English propriety months ago and had taken to wearing fitted riding trousers and loose blouses that allowed for quick movement, easy travel, and more comfortable horse riding. Her unruly hair was ever in a perpetual braid.

"Two worth looking at," he said as she slid into an adjacent armchair, 'One from Liverpool and the other from Lancashire." He glanced up from the letters to look at Rose. Her eyes were glazed over, her face pale. It was a look he had seen often of late. He knew that she was reliving the day Charles disappeared.

* * *

 _Sebastian was alive. The horror of the revelation turned her stomach, causing her to retch in a nearby plant. The police had searched the entire building and found nothing that pointed to what had happened, or where he might have disappeared to. Rose could barely handle the endless apologies and condolences on being abandoned on her wedding day._

" _Faked a kidnapping just to get away from her," was a frequently muttered sentence. Rose knew this to be false. Charles had risked his life at gunpoint, and had proven the depth of his feelings on several occasions._

 _London gossip circles had thrived on the news of the kidnapped Earl and the French Marchioness that supposedly refused to take off her wedding gown and stayed locked in her room for three days._

 _Rose could only sit in her doorway and stare at the stains the blood had left on the wall. She only wished she knew whose blood it was._

* * *

"Rose! _"_ Oliver snapped her out of the memory. "It seems that a man matching Sebastian's description ran up a gambling debt in Lancashire. Do you want to start there?"

"What about Warwickshire?"

"Oh there was no description, just an account of a few women being held at gunpoint till they gave a man their jewels. Lancashire is the more prom-"

"Go to Lancashire then. I'll head to Liverpool," Rose stood and arched her back till it popped.

"You can't travel alone! What if you do find him?" Oliver flew off the chair, raising his voice.

"It's a good thing I won't be alone then!" She shouted back, her hands on her hips. Oliver's face clouded over with confusion. "I have sent for Wesley. He will meet me in town tomorrow and then we will leave directly. I have to pack." She took a quick pace from the room, the sounds of coin purses and clothing being shoved into saddlebags echoing down the hallway.

"Please Lord, let one of these be the one," Oliver spoke aloud, as he had several times, "I don't know how much longer she can handle this. Please end her suffering," He cast his gaze towards her room. Oliver could only shake his head. He still marveled that he was so actively helping to find the man that held her heart, the man that kept her from noticing how Oliver loved her.

"Oliver," Rose poked her head out of the room, "Do you think he is still alive?"

Oliver couldn't stand to see the pain glittering in her eyes, her pale face drawn and sad. He nodded and turned back to the fireplace. He couldn't help but think about what could be if Charles were known to be deceased.

* * *

Chapter 2

The patrons of the inn threw jeering glances at Rose as she slid her way to the back table, most making lewd comments about a woman wearing trousers. The moldering smell of rancid ale on the breath of drunk men wafted through the room, making Rose want to gag as she reached the table where Wesley sat.

"Miss Rose!" He stood and guided her into a chair, flipping his long blonde locks as he did so. "Where to? Any solid leads?"

"There is never anything solid Wes. I just have a feeling about this one. I know we planned to stay the night then move but I want to hit the road immediately. I feel as though if we wait, any clue there might be will be gone by the time we arrive Liverpool." Rose fidgeted visibly. Wesley could not help but compare the woman before him to the woman of so many months ago. The quiet stillness and composure, with rigid propriety had been replaced with nervous energy, and a distinct disregard for the customs of propriety.

"A few hours can hardly make a difference," He said softly, placing a hand over her fisted one on the table. Her cold hand was instantly ripped away and the chair she had occupied was thrown to floor as she flew into a standing position.

"A few hours make no difference? Can you even begin to comprehend the agony I have felt these six months? I do not even know if my fiance is alive Wesley!" She hissed, anguish clouding her normally calm features. It pained him to see it.

They left a few minutes later, content at first to maintain an easy speed, but with Liverpool a day's ride away, Rose quickly abandoned patience and broke into a full gallop. Her braid swung dangerously back and forth with the bruising pace.

"Rose! My horse can't keep this pace up for the whole ride!" Wesley shouted over the sound of pounding hooves, his only reply was a dismissive wave of her hand. He shook his head and settled back into the saddle, trying to keep pace with the whirlwind in front of him.

A few hours later they stopped at a blacksmith's, which also doubled as a stable. Rose quickly dismounted and stalked towards the open doors of the building. Wesley had barely touched ground when she returned with two new horses behind her. She hucked a bag of coin over her shoulder towards the burly man that stared, bewildered, after her.

"Three thousand pounds as promised, plus some for the care of these two." Her words were clipped as she motioned for Wesley to transfer his belongings onto the new mount. They were back on the road in minutes.

They were covered in road dust, sweating, and starving when they reached Liverpool. The coastal breeze wafted through the street, bringing the scent of salt and rotting fish along with it. Rose drew in a deep breath, eyes closed and face turned up to the darkening sky. Her whole body relaxed for a moment before tensing up again. She turned cold eyes back to the street.

"A nice hotel is a few blocks down. Get the horses taken care of while I arrange for rooms." She ordered Wesley in a tone that made it sound like a suggestion. He shrugged before following her to a well kept, white washed building that looked like it belonged in Spain rather than Liverpool.

Dismounted, Rose handed her reins to Wesley, before shaking off some dust and marching inside. She approached the main desk, behind which an elderly, but otherwise fit man sat lazily in a cushioned chair. He stood as she drew nearer, but his eyes turned critical at her improper apparel.

"I need two rooms." She looked blandly back at the porter.

"We don't serve your kind here. Try the waterfront," His voice was nasally and pompous.

"Oh I do apologize, I thought this was a hotel for quality people. I suppose if you can't get accommodations for a Marchioness than I will have to take my business elsewhere." The man straightened at her words, giving her a long hard look.

"My word, you're her aren't you!" He sat back in his chair, a shocked expression on his face.

"Who?" Rose snapped.

"The one who got left on her wedding day! Been searching for the poor blighter ever since! You are the talk of England! Not much you hear of aristocratic women donning trews and-" Rose's long, pointed stare silenced him, revealing her utter lack of interest in the topic. Two keys were quickly placed in her open palm.

"Since you seem to know so much have you seen a man come through here? Tall, Spanish. Might look a tad bit insane?"

"I haven't seen such a person Your Ladyship. Though you might try the dock pub. Most people pass through there when in Liverpool."

"Thank you. I'll head there immediately. Please give these keys to my companion, he is with our horses in the courtyard."

"But Your Ladyship, you'll need an escort! It is not a safe part of town."

"Yes well. It never is, is it." She rolled her eyes and strode out the door.

She took long, determined steps to the waterfront, listening to the shouted of sailors on their ships. The pub came into view after a small curve in the road. The wood supports looked like they had been rotten for years, the stucco on the walls was peeling away due to rats eating it. The most disconcerting part was the rowdy laughter that emanated from the open windows.

For the first time in several months, Rose felt uncomfortable with the looks she received from those she passed. They spoke of a darker intent than normal. She locked eyes with the barkeep, intent on ignoring the filth and acts of ill repute that surrounded her.

"Have you seen a Spaniard come through here recently? Possibly with an English man?" Rose slid a few pound notes across the bar. The man tucked them in the filthy apron around his waist and leaned in till Rose could smell what he ate for breakfast.

"Aye. Messed up bloke ran through 'ere jus this mornin. Draggin a drunken fellow wit 'im."

"The drunken man, what did he look like? What was he wearing?" Rose tried to push down the hope that was rising in her gut.

"Would be a right handsome fellow, were it not fer the filth. Nice suit, though it seen some better days. Brown hair, the typical type. Kept muttering about flowers though."

"Flowers?"

"Aye! Bloke musta angered his woman! Spoke bout gettin roses." Her heart stopped.

"What were his exact words?"

"Exact? Oh somethin like 'Must find rose' just repeated it o'er an o'er!" The man jumped when Rose abruptly grabbed his collar and yanked him closer.

"Where did they go?" The low and menacing growl emitted from the small woman frightened the barkeep, though he would tell no one that.

"They took a ship that were docked here. Left for America but an hour ago."

Rose was out the door before the man even registered she had let go. Onlookers gawked at the woman running full speed to the docks, shouting for everyone to get out of her way. She eventually skidded to a stop in front of the dock office, which had been closed for the night.

She pounded relentlessly on the door till a wirey man peeked out, clearly woken from a deep sleep.

"Come back in the morning," His aged voice cracked, and his eyes shot open in surprise

as a foot was jammed in the closing door.

"I need to be on a ship to America. _**NOW,**_ "

"Miss, you'll have to come back in the morn-"

"I will pay you three hundred extra pounds. This moment. I need to go to the same place as a ship that left about an hour ago, or at least somewhere close. While you're at it, where was that ship going?"

The old man was bemused and intrigued by the spirit and commanding tone her voice held, and though he knew he shouldn't, he complied with all her requests.

"The _Margareete_ will dock in Boston, Miss. There is another vessel leaving in three days time for the same port. I can get you first class accommodations, if you wish." He smiled as the grave woman's face lightened with unsuppressed joy.

"That would be marvelous! Boston, you say?" Her laughter bubbled to the surface unchecked, "Perfect."

"And whose name am I registering your reservation under?"

"Marchioness Rose De La Fleur."

"And how many passengers?" The man took out a small notebook from a desk, looking expectantly at her. Her face clouded with thought, eyes downcast. Silence reigned for a few moments.

"Just one," When she looked up, her eyes were clear and sharp, the blue green irises piercing, even in the gloom.


End file.
